


X5

by LamiaSage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Baker Dean, M/M, Mutant Castiel, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Mutation, No Fluff, Pie, Post-War, Soldier Dean, Soldier Dean Winchester, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaSage/pseuds/LamiaSage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's life is pretty wrecked after he came back from the war. Still dealing with his traumatic experiences, he works at a bakery while trying to forget what he did to his brother, Sam. But nothing seems to work - until he meets Castiel, the new attendant, who is not just weird, but also  so unworldly and special that it rips Dean out of his day-to-day life. Attempting to find out Castiel's secret, he gets introduced to a completely different world, and meets someone whom he had thought died years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tired

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there :)
> 
> At first I want to say that this is my first fanfiction I ever wrote in English (yes, English isn't my first language), so please be not too harsh with me xD  
> Secondly I would like to thank the wonderful vesselofcain (soldier-dean) aka. my patient beta-reader who corrected all my misspellings ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Dean loved to bake pie. He loved the feeling of his fingers digging into the warm, soft pastry like it was nothing but pure lifeblood: made to be great, made to be unique; he could make it into anything he wanted it to be. He was a creator of something what was made for blessing someone with better life - even if it was just for a second.

The pie was literally a flicker of hope in their cold, lonely darkness.

"Do I really need to kick your pretty ass to make you stop dreaming or will you get to work now? Son, we'll get huge financial problems because of your temporary dickhead moves."

Dean yanked his hands out of the cake batter to hold them up in a defending way. "What? I'm totally working."

"But you're not doing the work you should do. Remember? We‘re still searching for an apprentice." The person yelling passionately at him - Ellen - pressed a stack of paper into his arms while clever avoiding his sticky hands.

"W-what?"

"You do the run today. Grab the sellotape and hang it up where Jo did it from last time." She sighed, then she gave him a motherly look. It was one of the kind that made Dean always feel goosebumps crawling over his skin, but also made him feel way better than anything else could - except a slice of pie maybe.

It was the one he needed desperately, like gasping for air to breathe.

And who else could give it to him if not Ellen?

"Just do it." She nod encouraging to her counterpart, turned around with a staunchy move and left hastily.

"Dammit" was the only thing Dean said after he looked down upon the pile of paper in his arms.

"Dammit" did he say again as he tried to wash his hands and clean himself without letting the stack fall down.

"Dammit" was such a great thing to say when nobody listened.

 

~ o ~

 

Ellen's bakery was just a small place in a big town but it was more special than anything else you could find there. It was a location where the spirits of bumped people came to heal their damage, but empower their specialties.

Ellen had always a friendly ear for her customers' problems and an even warmer heart for anyone who needed her help. She was friendly to everyone who disclosed their true soul – it wasn‘t important to her who they was and how they looked.

She was also a sassy wise woman with a healthy measure of self-awareness and a healthier punch with her right fist if it was needed.

That was why Dean loved this place, maybe more than he loved himself.

His right leg started to hurt like it always did when he was thinking about this crappy emotionally stuff, but he ignored it and hummed the melody of 'Hells Bells' instead. It wasn't his favorite song but he had listened to it at least 3000 times in the last year only.

The year after he came back from war. The year after he left Sammy behind.

Feeling like a traitor but still humming, Dean grabbed one of the papers and sticked it carefully onto the graffitied walls of a rotten building. The building was of no importance except that it stood in one of the worst regions of the city where the most chatty folks passed through. The Underground beneath and the old railway lines on a bridge above made it a pretty popular meetingplace next to the big parks where the dealers waited for their customers.

But while it was daytime, the building didn't represent any danger or problems with shitty gangs. In summary, was it a good place to hang up placards – even if they were pasted over with new ones the next day.

The dirty smell of exhaust fumes reached his nostrils as he lifted his head to study the poster. Dean started to hum 'Crossroad Blues' into the dim light of the afternoon sun. It was dusky in the shadow of the bridge, dusky and cold.

 _You like baking and working with humans?_ , the advert said in big bold letters like a desperate cry.

_You like to form your destiny with your own hands? Join us!_

Dean laughed bitterly. He knew he had given his fate away a long time ago.

On his way back to the bakery he hung up several more ads, mostly under bridges or at several crossroads. It was surprisingly silent out there, just a slightly wisp of hummed classic rock accompanied him. Why was the city so abandoned on that day? It nearly seemed like the last sign of hope left. Or maybe it was just him who thought so.

Sometimes he went a little crazy – no big deal.

 

Back at the bakery he saw the mechanic Bobby, who worked as car dealer next to their shop, and greeted him with an implied wave. Of course he let the rest of the papers fall down while doing that. Of course. It was like he was cursed with insufficient concentration since he came back from war, or clumsiness, or both. Whatever he did, he did everything with a disgruntling waste of time because he had to clean up his own mess. Sometimes he wondered why Ellen hadn't fired him already.

It wasn't like he was good talented at something reasonable. Not like Sammy.

Sammy would have done more work than Dean in three damn days.

„Dammit,“ he swore, and picked the papers up.

 

Dean did a miserable job for the rest of the day. He made new pies without big zeal because Jo finished his old one, but every piece looked messy and bulky. Nothing he did after coming back looked great. What a surprise.

 

~ o ~

 

Angry about himself he slammed the apartment keys into the corner of his room after coming home at the end of work, grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and launched himself upon the old brown couch in the middle of the room. He zapped listless through the TV channels, but didn't find anything interesting.

He just dozed off in front of a dull football game, his old leather jacket still upon his stomach like a cheap blanket.

This was like his everyday life went: Work, drink, sleep.

There was nothing between except maybe a tour into a tacky strip club on Saturday. Nothing that could remind him of what happened with Sam. Nothing that could remind him what _he_ did to Sam.

 

If Dean hadn't been asleep, if Dean hadn't seen enough of his poorly life, he maybe had recognized the man standing on the fireladder and staring through the smudged window into his apartment. He maybe would have recognized his glowing blue eyes.

It could have changed his life.

 

But it didn't.


	2. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to soldier-dean (vesselofcain) for beta-reading and also a big thank you to you guys for reading! <3  
> Let's celebrate Misha's birthday with a second chapter ;)  
> Okay that's not really in context but I just wanted to mention Misha because of... Misha xD  
> I hope you enjoy!

Dean wasn't a morning person. That had been Sam's part.

Sam could finish his warm-up and a long run through town way before Dean was able to open a single eye. But Sam wasn’t there waiting for him anymore – there was just ‚Highway to Hell‘ playing on his nearly dead phone; it was one of the old models you could throw against a wall and the wall would break. It was like the Devil himself said ‚hello‘ to Dean every morning, throwing ice cold water into his face with burning claws.

 

There was nothing special. Just frustration.

 

Dean tried to push the off-button while groaning, blinking his way through the madness. Afterwards, the apartment became depressingly silent once again. He rubbed his tired eyes, and stumbled his way through the bottles and outdated newspapers that littered the carpeted floor into the small bathroom at the opposite end.

 

He cleaned his teeth without a glance into the grease-spotted mirror. He flicked a dead fly off the sink and flung cold water onto his face. _The Devil didn’t do his work very well_ , he thought.

 

With a nearly brutal rub of his towel, he ended his morning wash-up and walked to his closet in order to find clothing for work. _Why did I become a baker_ , Dean though tiredly, and while walking to the closet, he accidentally stepped on a shard of glass. _Son of a bitch_!

 

He should have taken a job as a mechanic. That would have been safer.

 

The morning sun glared into Dean’s face as he arrived at his workplace. He parked the Impala, his baby, carefully at the same place behind the bakery. It gave him a queasy feeling to leave his car alone – after all, it – _she_ , was the most valuable thing he owned, full of memories – but what else could he do? He surely couldn’t stuff his baby into a pocket of his leather jacket. It broke his heart every time he had to leave his Impala alone. Not because he had a more than creepy relationship with his car, but because it felt like he would lose another part of his brother.

 

On his way to the entrance, he crossed with Charlie, a red-haired woman with questioning green eyes who was one of Bobby’s mechanics. Dean didn’t know much about her, except that she was a cool person and worked more as a computer manager than an old-fashioned installer. She was also stronger than half the men Dean knew, and nearly as well-trained as Jo. You had to be tough if you wanted to survive in this neighborhood.

 

Charlie greeted him with a friendly wave. „New Padawan, right?“

 

„What?“ answered Dean, unsure of what she was talking about.

 

She rolled her eyes. „You have a new worker, or-„ she asked more distinctly, „A new muggle you have to train.“

 

„Not that I know of.“ As so as he said that, Charlie started to wink at him.

 

„Okay, Qui-Gon Jinn. Just inform me if you’re finally willing to be a paladin.“

 

Don’t take it wrong – Dean loved geeky stuff. All this mixed references, though were too much for him. He hadn’t known that Charlie was such a big nerd. Not that it wasn’t cool, it was just... very surprising.

 

„Yeah...,“ he just said with an awkward grin. „I’ve gotta go.“

 

„Hey, Dean,“ Ellen greeted as soon as she saw him. „We’ve a fresh man.“

 

„Yeah, I know. Charlie said something like that. Didn’t need a whole lot of time for this, right? Somehow crazy.“

 

„If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you bring good luck,“ she said, her facial expression somewhere between fatigue and motherly pride. She pointed her finger at his chest. „Whatever. I have an important assignment for you: work the new guy in.“ She examined him carefully with a questioning stare.

 

Dean gathered the energy to not sigh, and asked, „And where is this ‚new guy‘? Don’t see the fella here anywhere.“

 

„He arrives at eight. Just check him out. And be patient.“

 

„What? That’s it?“ Dean asked, surprised.

 

„Did _you_ need a job interview? No. Just give the people time to evolve.“

 

He lowered his head in guilt. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Ellen was too precious for this world; she gave everyone a chance, no matter who they were or what they’ve done.

 

„Also, we urgently need someone, now that Ash left. Well, at least he does something with his brain now.“ She sighed. „I miss him.“

 

„Me too, Ellen“, Dean said, and hung his jacket upon the coat tree which stood in the small storeroom next to the kitchen.

 

„Let's see how this new guy is.“ He grabbed one of the aprons hanging there and tied it around himself. „Why did Charlie even know before me?“

 

„Because you're a douchbag“, Jo said from the kitchen in a sassy tone. „And I told her.“

 

„You're a douchebag, douchebag!“ _Really, Dean?_ , Sam's voice tuned into his head, _that was more than low._

 

 _Shut up, Sammy_ , he answered himself, _I'm doing my best_.

 

„Guys, we have work to do.“ Ellen grabbed one of the tablets that were stored beneath the counter. „Dean, you can make the cupcakes. That shouldn't take too long, so you'll be finished when the new one arrives.“  
  


Cupcakes. Fine. Dean was great in drawing rainbows and pink unicorns with food dye upon a faceless brown mixture. Okay, that was maybe the problem – Dean was _really_ good at it. Maybe that was his special ability: making everything look better that it was. Guess he could work for an advertising agency, too.

 

 _Yes, Dean, that's how we deal with traumatic experiences. Beer and whitewashing. We're really successful in life._ Dean sighed. It was one of those days where Sam wouldn‘t shut up. Those times were the worst, but they were also the best since Sam took his time before he left like a fading memory, being slowly pulled into another world. Dean always tried to catch him like a small dust grain in a huge storm, but he had no chance.

 

He laughed humorless. Sammy‘s nerve-racking voice was everything he had left of his brother. What a honor.

 

The morning was very tame - there weren't many customers, and the ones who visited the bakery were in such a hurry that they didn't even try to be friendly. Ellen did her best, waiting behind the counter and smiling kindly, but it never seemed to be enough.

 

Nothing ever felt worthy enough. That was the sad, bitter truth.

 

Around eight, a blond man entered the shop and approached Ellen with a gentle smile. „Are you the owner of this beautiful bakery?“, he asked, with a British accent. Dean heared his question and stepped curiously out of the kitchen, flour still on his hands. „You're the new trainee?“

 

The man laughed with an unconfortable look in his blue eyes, trying to make the situation less embarassing. „No, no, I'm just looking for a friend. We wanted to meet in this quarter, but he didn't appear.“ He scratched the skin beneath his v-neck. „He's always looking a little dishevelled, disorientated, maybe a little manky, too. Has black hair and is a little bit smaller than you.“ He pointed vigorously at Dean, still smiling.

 

„No“, Ellen shook her head, „not seen here.“

 

The man shrugged his shoulders. „Okay. Thank you, then.“ He inspected the goods on display. „Before I go... I‘ll take one of these fluffy rainbow muffins there, please.“

 

Dean went back into the kitchen, not longer interested in the dialogue. „Dumbass“, Jo greeted him and slapped the back of his head with a towel. „Even the blind can see that this is not our man.“

 

„Hey!“, Dean shouted in defense. „I'm new at this job! You can do that crap, if you want. I would rather bake this tasty pie.“

 

„You're not the new one anymore.“ Jo turned back to the pot with dough and started to knead it forcefully. She had an unnatural power in her hands - it was nearly scary to see her beat the poor mixture. Dean really, really didn't want to be beneath her fingers, not in a situation like this. Okay, it had something attractive, too, he had to admit.

 

„And mom trusts you“, she said more quiet, nearly whispering. „Mom trusts only the right ones.“

Before Dean could ask what she meant, Ellen stormed into the kitchen, taking along a fresh wave of air.

 

„Dean...“, she nodded, her face expressionless but her eyes excited. „He’s here.“

 

 _He? Sadly not a busty asian beauty..._ Gosh, he watched to much porn. He should stop. Not that he would, but he was getting addicted to it.

 

 _Dean, that's disgusting. We're in the same room_ , he heard Sam's voice into his head. Suddenly the hot, sudorific air of the bakery seemed to be degrees colder, nearly stabbing into his lungs like sharp, limpid ice.

 

 _What? I'm just watching_ , echoed his own voice through the memory, thrusting into his heart like a poisoned dagger. Dean regretted so much in his life, but that he had been not good enough for Sammy he regretted the most. He wished that he hadn't been such an asshole. That he hadn't been a burden. But sadly, Dean was a burden to everyone he met.

 

„Dean?“, Ellen asked, striking him with a worried, motherly expression.

 

He swallowed. „Yeah. I'm fine.“ What a beautiful, beautiful lie.

 

„Good. Get your ass over there, then“, she said with an encouragging nod. „I'm gonna be proud of you.“

 

The man standing in the bakery was staring at the brunatre-painted wall behind the counter with a blank face, like he was lost in suction of time, seeing the world around him crashing in monotony. He would have looked brutally dumb if there wasn't a kind of depth in his eyes, waiting to evolve into something bigger, better. Okay, maybe he was just geeky. Maybe he was just dull. That was a thing you could only know if you knew the person.

 

As Dean entered the room, the stranger turned, the long fabric of his coat billowing around his legs. „D-“ He stopped, his eyes wide like they would see something they had lost a long time ago.

It made Dean feel unconfortable. Nobody, nobody normal would react like this. This was a dumb thing only known by cheap, subprime movies. But in real life? Nah.

 

It was nearly as odd as seeing unicorns behind a bank counter. Not that Dean would ever make that comparison.

 

The man continued staring at him, his gaze burning into Dean's like a glowing light. „Good morning“, he said with a deep, rough voice, floating about Dean's skin as sandpaper.

 

„Hi“, the baker greeted. Somehow he had lost his tongue; every single word seemed to much for his brain – as if it was too busy trying to remember something important. What the hell was wrong with him? Strangers had never been a problem.

 

„I am the new attendant.“ The guy's voice was as dreary as his look.

 

„Yeah. I know.“

 

It was unusual silent in the bakery, like a vacuum surrounding them. The mute tension between them seemed to indure ad infinitum.

 

 _Man, that's creepy_ , Dean thought, _really creepy. Slenderman is out of the cage._ Everything in his body seemed to scream in anxiety _._

 

That would be a wonderful future if that creep would really start to work at the bakery - Dean literally saw the endless hours of someone observing him.

 

The guy still stared at him, the expression in his eyes somehow sad. Helpless would be the right word for it, helpless and lonely. The boiling trenchcoat around him let him look lost, too small to fit in this reality.

 

„I am Castiel.“


	3. Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Sorry that it took so long, but we (my lovely beta-reader and I) had some technical problems and I also started at university this week :) I hope you enjoy <3

Dean cleared his throat in the hope that the clumsy bitternes would go away.

„Hello, Mr. Castiel. My name is Mr. Winchester.“ Saying _mister_ seemed not fitting into this situation, but although it felt so painfully wrong, it was the only right thing. For Dean it felt like everything in this reality – twisted and distorted.

„No. My first name is Castiel.“ The stranger inclined his head towards the right direction.

„Okay... We go casual...“, he hemmed and rubbed his hands, grinning while trying to wish the awkwardness away, „why not.“

Heavy silence. Again. Just staring and moving towards each other. It was totally not okay because no one, no one ever did this. Dean always hated those movies in which something like this happened. It wasn't real. It wasn't like life worked.

Life was hard, cold and brutal, pointed, sharp and severe - and always ending with death. Nobody could ever escape the fear of dying, nobody could ever escape the fear of losing. Law was law. So plain but also so branched.

„So... What experience do you have in this work?“, Dean asked as Castiel stood in front of him, the face just few centimeters away from his own.

„I actually made a sandwich once.“

„Wow... wow, that's...“, Dean searched frantic after the right words, „a good start.“ What the hell did Ellen think as she accepted this noob? Dean trusted her, but this was just wrong.

He sighed. „A sandwich. Fine. You will be good at serving.“

„I do not serve anyone.“

Dean tried to be patient, but it was hard as the hot feeling of anger already seethed in his stomach. „You will. We're more a café than a bakery in the traditional way. That means you will see a lot of cake, pie and fluffy cupcakes which you will give to crying toddlers and violent children. So you should be okay with that.“

„Oh. I am sorry for that misunderstanding. Human language is confusing.“

„Yeah. It can be.“

„You should all try cat. It is very effective.“

Dean flinched, trying to put the words into the right order so that everything would make sense, everything would be great, everything would be fantastic.

Fine. The new guy wasn't just creepy, he was also crazy as hell. Great.

Castiel laughed. Little wrinkles surrounded his eyes of deep sea blue like a contrast to the innocence of his nealy childlike expression. The dark of his eye rings was outshined by his bright smile, but only a second glimpse was needed to see how tired and decayed Castiel's hand rubbed his temple, the fingers trembling like the ones of an old man.

Dean still didn't know if this man was a threat or just too precious for this dirty world. All his senses rebelled, his body spasmed while staring down to the shadow of the raddled trenchcoat. He nearly felt like he was back at war. All the feelings of being captured through brutal orders and staring helpless into dead eyes were back. All the angst Dean tried to ban from his mind. All the things Dean had done. Everything.

Castiel's huge smile disappeared as fast as it emerged. „You look distracted.“ He tilted his head a little bit.

„Yeah, I'm sorry.“ Dean smiled sadly, trying to look happy. „Alright, let's start!“ He rubbed his hands against each other, something he normally never would do.

„Of course. I hope I will do everything to your satisfaction, Dean.“ Castiel said, his expression full of respect and affirmation.

Dean didn't realize that he never introduced his first name.

~ o ~

„...and that's the kitchen“, Dean closed his showing trip through the bakery. The kitchen was the biggest room next to the café section, the walls were yellow tarnished although they should be in a bright white; the equipment old and rusty, but they were doing there job. And it was clean.

Over time the kitchen became more a home for Dean than his own apartment because he knew: Here was always someone waiting for him, needing him. It was the only moment in his everyday life where he wasn't alone. Jo and Ellen grew on him and he knew that it was the same for them, being worthy, feeling worthy.

„It seems to be a very nice place.“

„Well, it has to be“, Jo said, giving her mother a cheeky smile.

Castiel nodded, checking the setting around him with a interested stare. The light of the lamps above the stove underlined the structure of his cheekbones and made his face look harder, but also more aestheticly pleasing. _As if I would recognize that_ , Dean thought.

The new man was oddly interested in the big metal table standing in the middle of the room, nearly too big to fit. The sharp edges looked like they could impale somebody if he stepped wrong but because they were so massive they were also very useful to help form the dough. Most part of the table was sweeping clean because nobody worked on it – just Jo's place had some scratches on it, and of course Dean's part in the left corner which was the dirtiest place in the whole kitchen because piles of flour and other half dead and dissipated ingredients towered up on it. Dean was still working between it, using the minimal space of this big table but being good at it. And nobody said anything against it.

Ellen gave her daughter an admonishing look, then her pressed lips turned into a warm smile. „Hello again. I hope Dean was nice to you.“

„Of course I was!“, Dean protested.

„Yes. He was very kind.“

„I know“, Ellen said and winked at Dean as if she would know something that he wouldn't. „He can be“ she said with a big pinch of humor and stroked the loose locks of her hazelnut brown hair behind her ears.

„Sometimes.“ The thick nasty taste of irony layed upon Deans tongue, heavier than it should be.  
He stared at the big stain on the kitchen wall behind his place and wondered if it was made by him or by Ash who had worked in the same area a seemingly long time ago. Well, he would have recognized, or? _Looks like dad has thrown his wine bottle into your direction..._ Dean shuddered and let his eyes rest on the courrugated brown rand of the bloody red spot, trying to avoid Castiels intensive stare.

„Dean has a bright soul“, Castiel, playing the hobby-psycho-analyst.

Ellen arched her eyebrows while Jo bursted into laughter, hysterically holding her hands in front of her mouth. Dean's eyes wandered to Castiel. He felt hot blood floating into his head, trying to make him blush so that everyone could see how embarassed he was.

„That's... nice of you, Castiel“, Ellen said confused to break the tense situation.

Dean brandished his hands. „Dat's not NICE. Dat's gay.“

„What do you have against gay people?“, Castiel asked while seeming more interested than taunting, as if he would try to find the solution to a bigger problem.

„Nothing“, Dean answered energetic, „I'm just sayin' that because... everyone says it. It's cool.“  
That was the truth. But the truth sucked. In the same painful and brutally smashing way as life did.

„It's _not_ cool“, Jo tossed in and burried her hands into the box of glowing white flour which was standing in front of her. „Dean isn't, too.“

A bugged voice interrrupted them. „Gosh kids! Just do your work.“

Jo chuckled and Dean smiled, still watching Castiel who stared at Ellen now with admiring blue eyes. He seemed to enjoy the chill atmosphere although it was hard to see in his uninterpretable and completely neutral face.

„Come on, we will get you stuff“, Dean suggested, „so that you can begin making sandwiches.“

Castiel smiled. It was the wide, unadultered, kind grinning of child, showing pure happiness without any lies and secrets that needed to be covered up. It was so unalloyed and absolute, so improper in this angular face. But it was beautiful.  
Dean smiled, too – the first time in weeks.

_Gosh, this escalated quickly._


	4. Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive! xD I know I didn't update for a long time (16 days!) but now I'm back ;)  
> (and already working on chapter 5)
> 
> A big thanks goes like always to my lovely beta-reader soldier-dean (vesselofcain)! <3  
> *gives everyone a big hug*

„I will have to change my clothes?“ Castiel's eyes widened, surprised.

 

They stood in front of the storeroom, the darkness behind the open door like a gasping mouth. Dean groaned and turned on the lights with a fast tip upon the switch. „Of course you will. Or do you think I would wear these damn tennis shoes for free?“

 

Castiel let his eyes slowly wander down Dean's body as if he would burn the view into his mind. Dean coughed slightly, feeling very embarrassed. If a woman would have looked at him like this... well, he would be more as just aroused. _The last time someone stared at me like this I got laid, he thought_. But that was a long time ago, when Dean still had hope in the world becoming better. Well, the prostitutes still looked at him like this, but it didn't count beause it was just a tacky illusion even too cheap for him.

 

„What if I do not want to change my clothes?“

 

„Well, you will have a problem then. Do it, those are the rules. If not: leave.“ Dean didn't want to sound this harsh but he just said it like it was. The bakery surely was an informal place with people grunting at each other like family, but it was still a _work_ place. _As if you would follow the rules, Dean_ , Sammy said in his head with an ironic laughter. _The only one who could order you was Dad. And Dad is dead._

 

Castiel looked even more frightened.

 

„I can't do anything against the rules“, Dean warranted himself because damn, those eyes turned from creepy into puppy mode and Dean couldn't resist puppies even if he hated them.

 

The staring intensified.

 

„Fine“, Dean said and swore. „You can keep your crappy trench for the first time. But don't mess with Ellen. When she says you will have to doff it, you will, okay?“

 

„Thank you, Dean. This is very nice of you.“

 

„Well, I hope that I don't burn my ass with that.“

 

„You will not. You need fire to burn your derrière.“

 

Dean had the desperate urge to facepalm himself but resisted by cutting the flesh of his callused palm with his fingernails.

 

~ o ~

 

Castiel did pretty well at serving his customers, floating through the gap between the tables with surprising elegance, the trenchcoat flowing around his legs like calming waves of a deep blue sea. Dean watched him getting a lot of happy smiles. He never had thought that Castiel would be that good at following orders with a precise and organized structure. The only thing that was hard for Castiel to understand were the humans themselves. He didn't know any of the daily manners - but at least he tried to be nice and friendly, which was working well enough to get a lot of tips.

 

Dean caught himself by thinking about why the hell Castiel came to this place, and how his life had looked before. Was he a derelict thrown into a new world? The messy hair would fit, but for being homeless he seemed way too pure and not embittered enough.

But why would Castiel work a job like this? He wasn't even working as a baker, he was just a temporary help – but it seemed like he was intelligent enough to be qualified for being professor at college. Dean knew that Castiel was intelligent – not only because of the way the freshman used language without any slang but also because of the way how he scrawled mathematic formula upon his notepad, which was made for the customers' bills, like they were some kind of aesthetic sketch and not totally difficult to understand. And, of course, how Castiel observed the world.

 

After he had given his notebook back to Dean after work the baker just stared upon V – E + F = 2 not knowing what it meant. And this seemed to be the least complex formula on the book, written in a beautiful and smart font.

 

 _This is not how it works in a normal bakery_ , Dean thought confused, not even trying to let the letters upon the paper make sense. _But this is not a normal bakery, either_.

 

„Cas?“, he asked. Then, he recognized that he just gave the new boy a nickname.

 

Castiel - who was going to Ellen to get more orders from her - turned his head slowly in Dean's direction, a small grin upon his lips. „Yes, Dean?“

 

„Don't doodle in this notebook.“ Dean said with a neutral voice. „It looks like you're not working, and you can't really see the customer's orders.“

 

Castiel looked surprised. „But I was working, Dean.“

 

„I know“, he sighed. „Just don't do it, okay?“

 

„Of course. I will do what you say.“ His face was genuine, the curved lips slightly opened like the ones of a toddler who was watching the world around him with excited fascination.

 

Those were the last words Dean heard from the attendant that day because they spent the rest of the time in two different rooms. Ellen worked Castiel into selling cake at the counter (it was already evening and the café section was closed so there weren't many customers left, but at least she could show him the basic things every vendor had to know) while Dean prepared everything for the next day and sorted the puchases Jo had bought. It was tiring, monotonous work, but it helped him to ignore Sammys voice in his head. Flour? Interesting. Yeast? Interesting. Eggs? Interesting.

 

After the last beams of sun that had shone dim through the milky little window had dissapeared, Ellen came into the kitchen. She touched his shoulder with her soft, warm hand, at first silent and slowly breathing, then saying, „We already have post nine, Dean. You should stop before you're killing yourself.“ Dean didn't know when Jo and Castiel had left the bakery, he just knew he was alone again. Well, Ellen was still here, but just because she was the owner of the store and had the keys. _Also, because she cares._ _She cares about you_.

 

She sighed. „You look awful, Dean.“

 

„Thanks.“ Dean wanted to talk about his feelings, wanted to share his pain, but he couldn't. He couldn't even tell himself the truth, how could he tell someone else?

 

She smiled, encouraging. „Go home.“

 

Dean nodded. „Yeah. Thanks, Ellen.“

 

_Look at you. You're dead. Dead on the inside, stone on the outside. Who will ever forgive you?_

 

That wasn't Sammy's voice anymore. This voice was rough and harsh, hurting like sharp needles that drilled into the flesh of his skin. _Dad_ , he thought automatically.

 

~ o ~

 

By the time as Dean stepped outside of the small, warm building, it was already dark. He breathed into the cold autumn air and watched the plume that came out of his dry mouth fading slowly.

The streetlights shined down upon the rough asphalt and showed rotting brown leaves between plastic bags and other putrescent trash.

 

Dean buried his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. The sharp metal of the Impala‘s keys that grazed the tips of his fingers were like an alarming prickling. He smiled, tears in his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry. Dean Winchester never cried. He hadn't cried since he was back so he would definitely not today. He stepped upon the crooked sidewalk.

 

Then, he recognized somthing dark beneath his shoes, more a shadow than an actual object. With curiosity, he bent down and groped for the mysterious thing. It was probably trash but it looked strange under the dim light. Maybe someone had lost something?

 

Suddently the cups of his fingers touched something soft and warm. He pulled the fuzzy thing forth and hold it in front of his face to inspect it. Was this... a feather?

 

Yes, it was. Bigger than any other kind of feather Dean had ever seen upeaved it with a beautiful elegance, the swung bows and curves like an unique ornament. It moved under his breath like the heart of a living person, pulsing slightly upwards and downwards. Because it was black it seemed to fade away in the darkness, just to flare again when the streetlights hit it.

 

Dean held his breath while he watched it fascinated, not sure why he was this ecstatic. Slight images appeared just for seconds in front of his eyes like bright memories, but they died too fast for him to catch them.

 

What kind of creature could have a feather like this?

 

It felt like Dean was missing something important, like he forgot the solution of a problem. Weird. Just... weird. He didn't know why he pursed the feather, but he did.

 

~ o ~

 

In his apartment, Dean opened a bottle of cheap beer and threw himself upon the obsolete couch. He didn't turn on the TV. This time, he pulled out the black feather and watched it, watched it for minutes, watched it for hours.

 

He played with the stem by rolling it between his fingertips, trying to remember something he didn't even know about. He pondered over the day, Ellen, Jo and Castiel, and the longer he had them in his mind, the more grew the urge to jump up and just run until he was too tired to move anymore.

 

Finally, as he couldn't stand it anymore, he walked towards the bathroom, grabbed his yellow toothpaste out of the medicine cabinet and slammed the mirror door.

 

Something in him felt incredibly wrong.

 

And something in him felt incredibly right.

 

Dean would do everything to find out.

 


End file.
